


Camp Mountain Ridge - The Summer Before

by timetogoslumming



Series: Camp Mountain Ridge [7]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, M/M, Prequel, Unhealthy Relationships, drinking and drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetogoslumming/pseuds/timetogoslumming
Summary: We know the Camp Mountain Ridge that Davey joined. How did things get that way? Where did it all start?
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Camp Mountain Ridge [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/729501
Comments: 54
Kudos: 106





	1. Top bunks and storytelling

**Author's Note:**

> Howdyhowdyhowdy!!!!! I'm really excited to be writing this. It feels like Camp Mountain Ridge starts tugging at my heartstrings once a year or so, so here we are.  
> This isn't going to be nearly as long as the other "main" Mountain Ridge stories, but it will be longer than a oneshot. We're just filling in a few gaps in the story. Keep in mind. All that character development and growth that happened in the series? Hasn't happened yet. These kids are messes.  
> I gotta say, writing this without mboy Davey is a strug.  
> I hope you like it!
> 
> Quick content warning for non-specific mentions of child abuse and trauma in this chapter.

The first thing that Spot packed when preparing for his annual stay at Camp Mountain Ridge were his lifeguarding trunks. They were brand new– still a little bit stiff, not yet bleached from the chlorine, and the white cross painted on the right leg was still crisp and new. A silver whistle was tucked into the pocket, ready to go for his first lifeguarding shift. 

Becoming a guard had been the goal since the previous summer. Spot knew he loved working at Mountain Ridge, but also knew he wasn’t cut out for the counselor position. Dumping a bucket of water on that redheaded high school kid the summer before because he was a little late to wake up was perhaps not the best call. Spot would never live it down. He couldn’t remember the kid’s name, but it didn’t matter, because he didn’t have to be a counselor anymore. Lifeguards could bark orders and avoid kids outside of water activities and he was so ready for it.

His new Jeep took the mountain roads well, although it started to whine a bit on the steeper inclines. Still, though, he made it. Whipping around the corner into the camp, he had to slam on his brakes for another car going much slower on the camp road. Judging by the slow speed and the stickers on the back, it had to be Specs. Spot tapped the horn and Specs reached an arm out of the window and stuck up his middle finger. He slowed down and together, they reached the admin building at a glacial speed. 

About half of the guys were there. JoJo and Mush were sitting out on the steps and Romeo was just getting out of his own car. Romeo dashed toward Specs and nearly knocked him over with a hug. Spot shoved past them and started up the stairs. “Hey, I heard you’re a guard this year,” JoJo said, looking up from his conversation with Mush. 

“Oh,” Spot said, pausing. “Yeah.”

“Me too! I just got my certification two weeks ago.” Spot didn’t know JoJo well. They had never had much reason to work together in the past, and JoJo was a bit too friendly for Spot’s liking. 

“Cool.” Spot continued up the stairs. 

In the entranceway, Weasel was shuffling papers. He looked up briefly. “Oh, Spot. I have your paperwork taken care of, I think. You can go on in.”

Without a word, Spot pushed through the double doors to the conference room, where he knew the staff was waiting. He could hear them from outside. Just inside the door, Jack and Crutchie were seated side by side on top of a table, talking animatedly. Jack made a wide, sweeping gesture with one arm and almost hit Spot. “Oh, sorry,” Jack said with a laugh before going back to his story. 

“ _ Conlon _ .” Spot didn’t even have to look to know who it was. In the corner of the room, Race was seated at a table, deck of cards already out, pointing at him. Spot did his best to conceal a grin. Race’s hair was longer than it usually was, blonde tips curling up around the edges of his backwards hat. He wore last year’s camp t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. It was unseasonably cool for late May and it looked like it might start raining at any moment outside. Maybe Spot had forgotten how tall he was, but it almost seemed like Race had grown a couple of inches in the off season. Race picked up the deck of cards and started shuffling, nodding toward the seat across from him.

Spot took the seat without question. Race didn’t have to say the name of the game– he just dealt the cards. One was face down and another, a seven, was face up. “Hit me,” Spot said. Race dealt another card. It was a nine. Spot did the math quickly. “I’ll stay.”

Race’s eyebrows shot up. “You sure?” he asked. “That’s only sixteen. Long way from Blackjack.”

Spot pointed to the two visible cards. “ _ That’s _ only sixteen,” he said before pointing at the still unknown card. “ _ That _ could be anything.” 

“I mean, you can stay if you want,” Race replied slowly, a goading note creeping into his voice. “If you’re scared.” 

Spot made a face. “Fine. Hit me.”

Race grinned and dealt another card. It was a ten. “Yikes, that’s  _ way _ over,” he said with a laugh. 

Spot flipped the last card over. It was a five. He would have had twenty-one if he hadn’t listened to Race. “Fuck off,” he grumbled. 

Still laughing, Race dealt out another round. As he did, Spot took a moment to watch him, checking for any indications of the awkwardness from the summer before. Looking at Race now, it was like they had never hooked up. Like they hadn’t spent hours alone together in the woods or at the observation deck. Spot was flooded with relief. He wanted his friend, not the weirdness. They had an unspoken promise– we don’t talk about what happened last summer. And that was exactly how he wanted it.

\--------------------------

**Cabin Assignments**

**Manhattan** : 

Bucket- Head Counselor

Jack- Arts and Crafts Director

Knives- Program Director

Liam- Archery Lead

Major- Equestrian Director

**Queens (Equestrian Staff)** : Morris, Finch, Skittery

**Brooklyn** : Rafael- Aquatics Director

Lifeguards: Spot, JoJo, Quest

**Harlem** : Mush- Unit Leader

Counselors: Blink, Sniper, Buttons

**Woodside** : Trav- Unit Leader

Counselors: Crutchie, Mike, Ike, Tumbler

**Flushing** : Specs- Unit Leader

Romeo, Race, Boots

\----------------------------

In Flushing, Race claimed his usual bunk. Top bunk, directly above Romeo, across from the other top bunk. It used to be Spot’s, but now a yellow backpack hung from the ladder. A piece of duct tape was stuck to it with BOOTS written in Sharpie. Boots had just run back down the hill to his car. Race liked Boots. He was a really nice guy– a bit young, but nice. Still, though, he’d miss having his camp best friend in the cabin. Was that still what Spot was? Race wasn’t sure. 

His things were scattered around the cabin quickly, much to the dismay of Specs. “Can you  _ please _ at least keep your shit confined to one quadrant of the cabin?” Specs asked.

“My things require space to breathe,” Race replied as he tossed his extra pair of shoes off of the bunk. One landed solidly next to Romeo’s suitcase while another bounced slightly and rolled under the extra bunk. 

“No one’s going to be breathing with your nasty shoes in here,” Romeo said as he kicked the show away from him. 

Race leaned way over the railing of his bunk, hanging on so that he was hanging halfway upside down, making eye contact with Romeo. His hat fell off and landed in Romeo’s suitcase. “Be nice, Ro,” Race said. “I’ve missed you all year and you’re really going to break my heart on the first day?”

Romeo responded by reaching up and planting a hand on Race’s forehead, pushing him back to an upright position. “What’s the move tonight?” 

“I think Jack said something about setting the GameCube up in the lodge,” Specs replied. “And Bucket told me they got stuff for everyone to make quesadillas.” 

At the mention of the GameCube, Race rolled straight over the railing and landed, catlike, on the floor next to Romeo’s bed. It hurt his wrist a little bit, but he shook it out. “I’m going to the lodge,” he said. “I’m gonna crush Spot.”

As he ran from the cabin, Race could hear Specs talking to Romeo behind him. “God, he’s loud.” 

It was starting to rain. Race sprinted down the steep hill, nearly falling when he slipped on some gravel. He righted himself and kept going. At the fork in the road near Manhattan, Spot was also coming down the road. When he saw Race, he also broke into a run, but Race’s legs were longer and he was faster. By the time Spot got to the lodge, Race was already there, leaning against the railing to catch his breath. Race held out a hand. 

“What?” Spot asked, staring at the hand. 

“Five bucks.”

“ _ What _ ? We didn’t even have a bet!” 

“I won, though.” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Spot yelled, panting in between words. “I’m not giving you shit.”

“Fine. How’s Brooklyn?” 

“Alright,” Spot replied. “Quest has some nerd shit set up. He hung up a Dungeons and Dragons poster by his bed.” 

“You gonna play with him?”

“ _ Fuck, _ no. How’s Flushing?”

“Boots took your bed,” Race said.

“Hope he disables the booby traps I set up last summer.”

\--------------------------------------------

Staff training was, for the most part, the same as it had been the year before. Jack led them all in tie dyeing shirts. Knives taught survival skills like fire building, knife safety, and outdoor cooking. Mush and Blink kept disappearing and coming back an hour later with red eyes and snack size bags of Cheetos. On the fourth day of staff training, the day before a town day, Bucket announced at breakfast that abuse training would be after lunch, followed by an extended break. 

Spot’s stomach sank. He barely held it together throughout this training the summer before. He sat in the dark lodge with the rest of the guys, zoning in and out. Sometimes, he could retreat far enough back into his head not to hear it. Other times, words and phrases stood out sharply, drawing him back to the real world. He didn’t even realize when it was over. Bucket turned on the lights and everyone started getting up to leave. Spot stayed seated on the floor, staring at a bit of sand stuck in the gap between two wooden floorboards. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. The majority of the guys had already left, and the lodge was once again becoming quiet. A voice cut through his focus. “Spot? You good?”

He ripped his gaze from the piece of sand and looked up. Race was there, staring down at him with concern. “Oh. Yeah, I’m good. Just kind of zoned out.” 

“Well, I was going to go down to the art hut, if you wanted to come.” 

“I think I’m just gonna go to the pool,” Spot said. 

“You got keys?” 

Spot reached into his pocket and jangled a small bundle of keys. All of the lifeguards had keys to the pool gate and the equipment rooms. He hoisted himself from the ground and started toward the door. Race didn’t ask if he could come along, but he did anyway. They walked in silence for ten minutes before arriving at the pool. Spot unlocked the gate, stepped into the fenced area, kicked off his shoes, and sat at the edge of the pool with his feet in the water.

He didn’t have to look up to know that Race was right by his side, sliding his socks off and also dangling his feet in the pool. Spot was calming down some, although his heart still raced with heavy, thudding beats. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes while Race drew patterns in the water with his feet. Finally, Race cut through the silence. “What happened to you?”

And Spot wasn’t sure why he did it. It wasn’t something that he talked about. The way Race phrased it–  _ what happened to you _ – could easily come out as rude, but Spot knew Race. He knew when Race was being rude (which was often), and this wasn’t it. Race’s tone was soft, and Spot knew that if he didn’t want to answer, it would be okay. But he did answer. Over the next hour, he told Race everything. For once in his life, Race stayed quiet. He asked questions periodically and made small comments when appropriate, but he let Spot talk. 

He hadn’t told anyone everything that had happened during his upbringing in years. There was so much to say. At so many points, Spot had to back up. “ _ Wait, let me explain that real quick _ .” “ _ Hang on, you’re going to need some background for this part _ .” His story twisted and wound around his mind, tangling with every thought. By the time he was done, it was almost like the story had been detangled and wrapped up neatly in the corner. It was still there, but it was organized now. It made sense now– as much sense as it could, anyway. It was still all there, dancing at the edges of his subconscious, but that was manageable. Having it at the edges was better than intermingling with everything he did.

At some point during his story, Race had moved closer. Spot’s right leg pressed against Race’s left and their hands rested millimeters apart. Race turned slightly and pulled Spot in for a hug. It was weird. Hugging wasn’t something that they did. He stiffened, expecting Race to try to kiss him or something, but that didn’t happen. After a long moment, they pulled apart. “Anyway, that’s it,” Spot finished lamely. He took a deep breath and found that the air came easily, filling his lungs with fresh mountain air with a hint of chlorine.

“You’re not just lifeguarding to get rid of being a counselor,” Race said. It wasn’t a question. 

“What?” 

“You actually want to save kids.”


	2. Pirate's Booty and the Invincible Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Camp Mountain Ridge staff meets the Camp Willow Lake staff for a day out, and Jack dreams of deserts.

On the day that the Camp Mountain Ridge staff was supposed to meet up with the Camp Willow Lake staff, Jack woke earlier than usual. He was once again sharing a room in Manhattan with Bucket and Knives, and Knives snored. As carefully as he could to avoid waking the other two, Jack slipped out of bed, dressed quietly, and stepped out of the cabin. The door to the Delancey’s room was still shut and there was no sound coming from inside. 

Outside, the sun was still low, but it was already heating up. It had been one of those weeks where the weather just couldn’t decide what to do. One morning it had been cool and rainy, then scorching hot and dry the next. Jack wandered out to the middle of the road and sat down, absorbing the rays like a cat. He hadn’t yet started to get his annual camp tan. 

From behind him, he could hear three sets of footprints hitting the pavement. Jack turned slightly, looking over his shoulder to see JoJo, Specs, and Mush coming back from their morning run. Specs slapped JoJo on the shoulder once and started up the hill to Flushing while Mush broke off to go to Harlem and JoJo carried on toward Brooklyn. They were all winded and none of them stopped to say anything to Jack, but that was okay. It was early.

He fell asleep out there. It was hard to say when he drifted off or how long he was out, but Jack was woken by the sound of the golf cart pulling to a stop next to him. “You trying to die?” 

Jack opened one eye to see Drowsy in the golf cart, staring down at him with a bemused expression. “I’d like to see you try,” he said. “I’m invincible.”

“Alright, invincible man. Where’s Bucket?” 

Jack checked his watch. It had been about half an hour. “Probably still asleep.”

“Well, get up. I need help refilling the first aid kits.”

Jack pushed off of the ground to his feet and took a seat in the golf cart with Drowsy. They finished the drive to the infirmary and let themselves in. It was musty and needed to be aired out, but Jack felt a surge of warmth as they stepped inside. Soon, Medda would be here, and Jack could stop by whenever he wanted to chat or watch Bob’s Burgers with her. 

Drowsy pulled out an inventory list and started calling out supplies for Jack to find and divide equally between the many first aid kits. It took a while. The supplies were poorly organized and there were several instances where Drowsy had to stop what he was working on and help Jack rummage through plastic tubs for cotton swabs or alcohol wipes. By the time they were finished, breakfast was already starting.

“Let me give you a ride to the dining hall,” Drowsy said. “Bucket should be up by now. I need to pass over the keys to my sick ride.” The head counselor got the golf cart. The camp director had the use of an old truck. Jack was always trying to get rides from Drowsy or Bucket. As they drove, they passed a few stragglers on the way to the dining hall. Crutchie waved them down and Drowsy stopped for him, letting him get a ride. 

“Who’s driving today?” Crutchie asked Jack. 

“Probably Race,” Jack replied. 

“Taking your life into your own hands, huh?” Drowsy asked. 

“I’m invincible, remember?” Jack reminded him. 

They were dropped off and Jack and Crutchie made a beeline for Race, who was sitting with Spot and the lifeguards. “I’m just saying,” Spot said. “You’re not going to look intimidating if you show up to a guard shift with a Pokemon t-shirt on.”

“Lifeguards don’t  _ need _ to look intimidating,” Quest said, plucking self-consciously at his t-shirt. 

“Yes, they do! That’s how you get them to follow the rules.”

“I think,” Race interrupted, “You can get them to follow the rules if you convince them that they’ll die otherwise.”

“Yeah,” JoJo said. “Good idea. Tell a bunch of seven year olds that they’re going to die in the pool.”

Spot shrugged. “It’d probably work. What do you want, Kelly?” 

Jack and Crutchie had been hovering next to their table for this entire argument. “Race,” he said. “Can you drive us today?”

“Yeah,” Race replied, taking a huge bite of the breakfast sandwich that he had constructed. He turned to Spot. “Ten bucks?” he said around a mouthful of food. 

“Alright.” They shook on it.

Bucket stepped up to the front of the room and got everyone’s attention. “We’re meeting the girls for mini golf at eleven. Then Walmart or whatever you want after– there’s no training sessions planned for today.”

“Which mini golf place?” Crutchie asked. 

“Booty.” 

\---------------------------------------

Pirate’s Booty was a strange, vaguely run down, potentially shady pirate-themed mini golf place. A busty mermaid smiled at them from the billboard by the road and Race whipped his old Honda into the parking lot, arriving just after Spot. It had been a harrowing trip down from the mountain and as they got out of the car, Spot was already leaning against the side of his Jeep, hand outstretched. 

Race passed him ten dollars with a scowl. “It’s not fair,” he said. “Your car is better at mountains.”

“It’s a Jeep,” Spot corrected. “And yes, it is.” 

Jack wandered off in search of the Camp Willow Lake girls. There were a few at the ticket counter, and Jack recognized two instantly. He snuck up between Sarah and Katherine and threw an arm over each of their shoulders, kissing each of them on the cheek. “My two favorite girls.” 

Sarah shoved him off with a smile, but Kath turned to give Jack a tight hug. He had maintained what he referred to as flirtationships on and off throughout the previous summer. Jack and Sarah had briefly gotten together, but he had never actually done anything more than flirt with Kath. It was understood that it was all playful and meaningless. Of course, he and Sarah were over. If her telling him that she wasn’t interested hadn’t done the trick, her Instagram post in October proudly coming out as a lesbian made sure of it.

“Want to play with us?” Kath asked, gesturing toward the ticket booth. 

“Can Crutchie play?” 

“Of course.” 

They got putters and balls and set out onto the course. Crutchie was terrible. Sarah was pretty good. Jack and Kath weren’t keeping score. Next to a statue of a drunken pirate (the hand, which once held some kind of bottle, had been knocked off. If on purpose or from an errant swing of a putter, no one could be sure), Jack wrapped his arms around Kath’s waist from behind her, holding her hands over the putter, “demonstrating” the proper way to hit the ball. It went sailing into a murky green pond. Behind their backs, Crutchie made dramatic gagging faces while Sarah laughed behind her hand. They both knew it was only a matter of time before Jack and Kath got together. 

\-------------------------

Late that evening, after everyone made it back to camp, Jack left Race and Crutchie and wandered down to Manhattan. Through the windows, he could see that the Delanceys had taken over the living room and were playing some kind of game with Liam. Liam was the only one at the camp who really got along with them, and even he wasn’t sure about them. He was too polite to turn down someone’s offer to hang out, though, no matter how disgusting the people were. He even shared a room with them.

Not wanting to spend any more time around the brothers than he had to, Jack took a right at the cabin and starting picking up sticks that he found along the way. He made his way to the fire pit and started building a small campfire. It wouldn’t last for long– he hadn’t gathered nearly enough wood for that– but it would at least stall him a little bit. He was good at starting fires. Not nearly as good as Boots or Knives, both of whom had a special gift with fires, but still, good. He pulled a lighter from his backpack and lit a couple of strategic places, and the wood slowly began to catch. 

Once it was going properly, Jack stepped back, taking a seat on one of the logs surrounding the fire pit. He pulled his sketchbook from his backpack and started sketching shapes made by the flames. They didn’t look like much of anything. If anyone else saw, it would just look like random lines on the page. 

After a couple of minutes of aimless drawing, Jack heard shoes crunching on the gravel near him. He turned and saw Bucket coming toward him. Bucket took a seat next to Jack. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” Bucket asked. 

“I’m not by myself,” Jack replied. 

Bucket snorted and shook his head. “Okay. What  _ were _ you doing out here by yourself?”

Jack snuck a sideways glance at Bucket. He had always had a lot of respect for the head counselor. He was two years older and two inches taller than Jack. That shouldn’t have made a difference, but it did. If he was being honest, he had harbored a bit of a crush ever since he was a CIT and Bucket was a new counselor. Bucket was slightly older than most of the other Mountain Ridge staff, and he  _ looked _ like it. He was one of the only people there with a full beard. His left arm was covered in tattoos, and he was full of stories from his time traveling in the off season. 

“Just wanted some time alone,” Jack said, then realized how that sounded. “I mean, from the Delanceys. They took over Manhattan. I don’t mind  _ you _ being here.”

“God, those guys are dicks,” Bucket said. 

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the small fire dance. In the background, bullfrogs by the lake croaked deep, slow songs. “Did you go anywhere this year?” Jack asked. “During the off season?” 

“I spent two months in Santa Fe with some friends. I know some people that have like… a yoga retreat, compound place. I worked, taught some lessons, and got to stay there for free. You ever been?”

“No,” Jack replied. He had never been much of anywhere. “What’s it like?” 

Bucket leaned back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “Gorgeous. You can really  _ breathe _ out there, you know? And there’s all of these mountains, red rocks, all that. Sometimes, I’d go off on walks, and you wouldn’t see another person for miles. Just me and the desert.”

“That sounds kind of perfect.” 

“It is. And you know, that kind of dry heat is really good for you,” Bucket explained. “It’s too wet here. I mean, you know how if you put away a tent wet, it’ll mildew?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s kind of like that with people. I’m not saying that people mildew, of course. But it’s not good for you to have that much moisture in the air all the time. You’ve got to dry things out.” 

“That makes sense,” Jack said. 

“Yeah. You should definitely try to get out there sometime. Totally worth it.” 

Jack meditated on that for a moment. “Santa Fe… yeah. Sounds great.”

When Bucket finally got up to go find Knives, Jack flipped to a new page in his sketchbook. He fumbled in his backpack, eyes straining in the dark for his colored pencils, and finally pulled out a handful of warm shades. He started sketching out a desert landscape with rocky, geometric mountains in the background. The idea of the mountains tugged at something inside of Jack and he used up several more pages, front and back, perfecting the mental image that he had conjured.


	3. Valleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot and Race take a break.

The first week of camp went smoothly. Drowsy, Weasel, and Bucket had the running of camp down to a science. It was like a carefully coordinated dance, and everyone knew the steps. 

After a shift of lifeguarding for the little kids, Spot wandered down to Manhattan for a break. He normally took his breaks in Brooklyn or by himself at the pool, but he needed to start a load of laundry. Inside, Oscar Delancey was lounging on one of the couches, playing a game on his phone. Spot passed him without a word and went to the washing machine in the kitchen, where he tossed his clothes in with a detergent pod. 

He turned and started out of the cabin, but Oscar stopped him. “What’s up with Raf this year?” Oscar asked.

Spot turned slowly. “What do you mean?” 

“He’s acting…” Oscar made a face. “Different.”

Spot didn’t know Raf, the head lifeguard, very well yet. He was strict and took no flack from anyone and ran a tight ship at the pool. From what he knew from seeing Raf around the previous summers, there were some differences. He had grown his hair out and wore it in a long ponytail and kept to himself more. Everyone changed during the off season. That was just how things went when you spent nine months apart. People came back to camp every summer with new haircuts, new tattoos, and new stories. “However he’s acting is none of your business,” Spot said. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m just making conversation.” 

“Yeah, great. Don’t bother– I’m out.” Spot turned back toward the door and left Manhattan. He glanced around and saw a figure sitting on the edge of the dock in the lake in the distance, head bowed. It was hard to make out details, but he was definitely a counselor– lanky, wearing a tie-dye shirt and backwards hat. He faced away from Spot, looking out in the direction of Camp Willow Lake. 

Spot walked down to the lake onto the docks toward Race. Race, who didn’t even look up from his Rubiks Cube, nodded in his direction. “You’re not supposed to be out here without a lifeguard,” Spot said. 

“Well, thanks for being my rescuer.” 

Spot took a seat. “Delancey just tried to talk to me.” 

“Which one?”

“Oscar.”

“My condolences.” With a small click, the final square of the Rubiks Cube snapped into place. Without celebrating or gloating, Race immediately started scrambling it again. 

“You good?” Spot wasn’t sure if he should ask. Race had been subdued for a few days, but he could always just tell Spot to fuck off and mind his own business. 

Race didn’t answer for a long moment. Finally, after the cube was suitably scrambled, he said, “Did you know I’m bipolar?” 

“No,” Spot replied, but it made sense. Race could go from jubilant highs to deep depression with seemingly no rhyme or reason. 

“Yeah, I am. It’s like… there’s peaks and valleys, or whatever.” He looked up, staring across the lake.

Spot followed his gaze. Camp Willow Lake was directly across the lake from them, nestled in between two mountains. “And this is a valley,” he said. 

“Yeah.” 

Spot didn’t know what to say, so he stayed silent. 

After a couple of minutes, Race broke through the silence. “Hey, can I ask you something? And don’t freak out or anything.” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Last summer… happened.” 

Spot tensed up. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

“What’s your question?” Spot asked. 

“Maybe we could do it again,” Race suggested. He didn’t have to say what it was. The tension had been hanging between the two of them ever since they saw each other on the first day back to camp.

“I’m still straight,” Spot said. 

“Yeah, me too. I just… could really use something to take my mind off of things.” 

Spot didn’t have to consider it for long. He stood up and gestured for Race to follow him. The docks were too public. They walked down the docks and Spot stopped at the boat shed. He took out a key and unlocked the door and stepped inside. Race followed him in and closed the door behind him. It was pitch dark for a moment while Spot felt around for the light, but he finally found a thin chain hanging from the ceiling and pulled. A single lightbulb illuminated the shed. There was no ventilation and it was hot inside and smelled slightly like lake water. Racks of canoe and kayak paddles took up one wall while a wall of lifejackets took up another. In a corner, a backboard and lifeguard tube were propped up next to a first aid kit. 

They stood facing each other from a few feet apart until Spot took a step closer. Race took a step, and Spot took another, until they were inches apart. Spot was quite a bit shorter than Race, but before he even realized that Race had leaned down, their lips met. Kissing Race wasn’t like kissing girls. The technique was the same, and Spot was used to kissing taller girls, but there was something different about the way that Race did it that he had never quite been able to put a finger on. He liked it. Liking the way that someone kissed didn’t mean you liked  _ them _ , and it didn’t mean you were gay. Anyone could appreciate a good kiss, no matter who it was coming from. And with Race, it was  _ good.  _ They often congratulated each other on their technique and pointed out places where they could improve after they were finished. This time, though, Spot couldn’t think of any room for improvement. He couldn’t think of much of anything. 

His back pressed up against the wall of lifejackets as he reached up and took Race’s hat off, dropping it to the floor. He knotted his fingers into the blond hair, which curled up at the ends. Race, he knew, loved having people touch his hair, and deepened the kiss. It was hard to say how long they stayed in there, making out. Time was irrelevant. As things were beginning to calm down, Spot found himself on the floor, using a lifejacket as a pillow, with Race hovering over him. 

Race pulled back from Spot, lips slightly swollen, and something in his eyes changed and made Spot’s heart sink. Race hung his head and shifted so that he was sitting next to Spot. He drew his knees up to his chest and buried his face there. “Wh–” Spot started, sitting up slightly. 

Race’s words came out muffled. “My mom is dying.” 

With that, Spot really did sit up. “What?” 

“We found out in March.” 

For some reason, Spot felt like a failure. He hadn’t been able to get Race’s mind off of things. “Shit.”

“It could be six months, could be a few years,” Race continued, turning his face so that his words came out clearly. His eyes were faraway, like he wasn’t in the hot boat shed anymore. “I don’t know what to do.” Spot didn’t say anything. They sat in silence until Race blinked quickly a few times, seeming to remember where he was and who he was with. He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and stuck out a hand. Spot reached out and they shook. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir, as always. No homo.”

“No homo.” Spot handed Race his hat, which lay discarded on the floor next to them. “Fix your hair,” he said. “You look like you just made out with someone in a shed.”

After Spot left to go switch his laundry to the dryer, Race stayed down by the lake, sitting on the edge of an overturned rowboat. For a minute there, he had forgotten. All that he could think of while he was with Spot was the feeling of Spot’s lips against his and Spot’s fingers in his hair. It clouded his mind, filling every bit of space available, and drove the fog and valleys away, at least for a little bit. It was hard to push a mountain away completely, though, and a valley was made of  _ two  _ mountains. Even Spot, as strong as he was, couldn’t move the earth that much. 


	4. Going For Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a talk with his roommates about sexuality.

On a Tuesday during the second week of camp, Jack was spending the hour just before lunch washing paint off of things. Mush’s group was an unusually large group of the little kids and their finger painting session got messy. Jack didn’t mind the mess. You couldn’t expect a bunch of six year olds to be careful what they touched when they were riding the high of finger paint. Everything in the art hut was already stained with paint, anyway. 

The door opened and Jack looked up from the plate he was scrubbing to see Crutchie come in, limping more than usual. “What’s up?” he asked. 

“Coming to grab an ice pack,” Crutchie said. He hobbled to the kitchen and took out a Ziplock bag, which he started to fill with ice from the freezer. 

“You know Medda has actual ice packs, right?”

“I know,” Crutchie replied. “But she’d make me sit out the rest of the afternoon and that’s not going to happen.”

“Rough day?”

“Observation deck hike.”

Jack put down the plate he was washing and turned to face Crutchie, leaning against the counter. Crutchie finished making an ice pack and pulled up a couple of chairs, sitting in one and propping his leg up on the other with the ice. “Dude. You shouldn’t–”

Crutchie cut him off. “If the group’s doing it, I’m doing it. You run up there all the time like it’s no big deal.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal for me,” Jack pointed out. 

“I  _ know _ . And I don’t want it to be a big deal for me.” He shifted the ice pack. “Besides, I’m fine. I’m not actually hurt, just sore.”

“Have you thought about getting a job next summer in one of the program areas? You’re a good swimmer, you could probably be a lifeguard.”

Crutchie barked out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure me sitting up on the guard chair in a binder won’t draw any questions.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You know, legally, the lifeguards  _ are _ allowed to wear shirts. Just because most of them don’t doesn’t mean you can’t.”

Crutchie ignored that. “Besides, I don’t know if I’ll be back next summer.”

“You have to! I want to be head counselor next summer!” 

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Think about it! You could have this job– you like crafts– and I could be head counselor so I’d have the golf cart and I could give you rides. And we could be roommates in Manhattan!”

“Are you going to kill Bucket off for his job?” 

“No,” Jack said. If Crutchie didn’t know better, he would think there was a hint of redness in Jack’s cheeks. “Bucket was talking about maybe going to backpack around Europe next summer.” 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.” 

“Yeah, well… we’re roommates.” Jack shook his head. “And that could be us next summer!” 

“Sorry, I don’t want whatever fantasy roommate dating scenario that you’re dreaming up with him,” Crutchie teased. He knew a bit about Jack’s crush, but he had really hit the nail on the head. Jack would love nothing more than for him and Bucket to get together and be able to spend the whole summer together as roommates. Of course, Knives was in their room, too, but he was cool. Knives and Bucket were best friends, surely they could get some alone time. 

“Shut up,” Jack said.

That night in Manhattan, Jack, Knives, and Bucket had a heart to heart. “I’m just saying,” Bucket said, commanding the room in that easy way he had. He didn’t have to speak loudly, because he knew people would listen. “I don’t see gender or sex or anything. Like, those are irrelevant to who a person is. I just see  _ souls _ .” 

“Yeah,” Jack said, hanging onto his every word. 

Knives rolled his eyes from his bunk. “Do you realize how pretentious you sound?” he asked. 

“Just because you’re a hetero doesn’t mean everyone has to be,” Bucket shot back. 

“I  _ know _ that,” Knives said. “Obviously. I just mean that it’s not  _ irrelevant _ . Like, I’m pretty sure I’d be pretty different if I was a girl.” 

“That’s just because of gender roles that you’ve been subject to for your whole life,” Bucket said. 

“Yeah, it is,” Knives replied. “But I’m pretty sure that if I grew up with girl gender roles, even if they’re bullshit, they’d still have a lot to do with who I turned out to be.”

Secretly, Jack sort of agreed with Knives. He had seen close up how important gender could be for a person through his friendship with Crutchie. Crutchie’s gender wasn’t irrelevant, and Jack was pretty sure his wasn’t, either. He couldn’t imagine being anything other than a guy. It was something that was a deeply rooted certainty for him, and it certainly didn’t feel irrelevant. Not that he was going to say that. Knives was studying psychology in school and had recently taken a gender studies course and Bucket had more life experience than the average man twice his age. All Jack would be able to lend to the conversation would be “yeah, I feel like a boy.”

“What about you, Jack?” Bucket asked. 

“What?” Jack said. 

“Do you go for souls or genitals?” Knives asked sarcastically. 

“Oh, uh… I’m bi, so…”

“Good for you!” Bucket said, enthusiastic. It was nice. There was none of that false cheeriness that someone put on when you came out to them but they weren’t  _ actually _ comfortable with it.  _ Oh, good for you. That’s brave of you for coming out. So, you’re like, half gay? That’s funny! My cousin’s roommate is bi _ . With Bucket, he seemed genuinely happy to hear it.

That, of course, sent Jack’s mind into overdrive. Why was Bucket happy that Jack was bisexual? Was he just happy to hear that another person looked at souls, not sex, or whatever it was he had said before? Or was he happy to know that Jack specifically liked men? Jack was one of the older staff members at Mountain Ridge, but talking to Bucket (and Knives) made him feel especially young. He was always reminded of how few life experiences he had really had, and how little he knew.

After a while, Jack started feeling a bit claustrophobic, as he often did after spending too much time outside. He excused himself and took his hammock with him. Outside, the camp had settled into the quiet stillness of life. He could hear showers running up on Flushing hill and knew that Specs, Romeo, Race, and Boots would be working on getting their boys asleep soon. Jack strung his hammock up between two trees and climbed in, staring upward. The branches above him obfuscated most of the sky, but a few stars peeked through. 

As time passed, the sound died down at Flushing. The cicadas hummed a sort of blanketing white noise and Jack felt himself beginning to drift off. Before he could, though, he heard footsteps coming toward him and his ears perked up. Jack craned his neck to see who was coming. It was Bucket, dressed in pajamas, hands in his pockets, walking purposefully toward Jack. 

“Can I sit?” Bucket asked, motioning toward the hammock. 

Awkwardly, Jack sat up, maneuvering so that there was room for two in the hammock. Bucket joined him and their combined weights made the hammock sink a few more inches. They were sitting uncomfortably close. 

“I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable in there,” Bucket said. “I know I kind of put you on the spot about your sexuality.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Jack said quickly. “I’m not in the closet, or anything.” 

“I didn’t think you were. I just wanted to make sure I was reading your vibe right.”

“My ‘vibe’?” Jack asked. 

Without responding, Bucket kissed him. Jack wasn’t expecting it. They were sitting so closely that it didn’t take much for Bucket to lean in, and he had done it without Jack even realizing. He was suddenly aware that he had never kissed anyone with a beard before, and then even more aware that he was kissing  _ Bucket _ . 

When they broke apart, Jack stammered. “What?” 

“Is this okay?” Bucket asked. One hand grazed Jack’s chin. 

“Yeah,” he said, then repeated it more emphatically. “ _ Yeah _ . I mean, I really like you, I just wasn’t expecting–” Bucket cut him off, pulling Jack in for another kiss. Jack relaxed this time and just allowed himself to enjoy it. 

“I’d like to do that again,” Bucket said after they were both breathless and tired. Jack’s heart raced.  _ I kissed Bucket _ , he thought.  _ Wait, no. Bucket kissed  _ me _!  _

“Yeah, me too,” Jack replied. He felt a blossom of the usual confidence that he usually felt when flirting. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, you know.”

“That’s good to know,” Bucket laughed. His face grew somber. “But I did want to mention– I’m the head counselor.” 

“Yeah?” 

“And I’m just saying, you know how word travels around here. Maybe things would be better if we kept this between us for now, you know? I just feel like we don’t need to answer to anyone or explain anything, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “That makes sense.” It was exciting, having a secret. It was even more exciting having  _ this _ secret. 

Race had been scheduling a lot of evening breaks so he and Spot could meet up. Sometimes they found a private place to hang out, but most of the time, they just spent time together, playing cards or talking. After all of his kids were in bed, Race started down Flushing hill with a deck of cards in his pocket. He didn’t bother taking a flashlight– he knew the path between his cabin and their usual meetup spots well enough not to need one. The moon was bright and high in the sky and cast a celestial blue glow over the camp. 

Just on the edge of the treeline near Manhattan, Race noticed a couple in a hammock, glued together at the face. When they pulled apart and began to talk, he realized who it was.


	5. Red Flags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot loves gossip and Crutchie loves his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for recreational drinking and drug use.

Without alerting Jack and Bucket, Race made the rest of the walk to the pool, where Spot was waiting. The lights were off except for the submerged ones in the water, giving the area an eerie, watery glow. Spot was already in the pool, using a lifeguard tube as a float. “Hey,” he said. 

Race dropped his stuff on a picnic table and sat by the edge of the pool, taking off his shoes and socks. “I have gossip.” 

“What is it?” Spot asked. 

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Then why even tell me you have gossip?” 

Race grinned. “I just want to make you suffer, obviously.” He pulled off his shirt and slid into the deep end. “Maybe if you give me something, I’ll tell you.” 

“You just want to tell me,” Spot said. “I don’t need to give you shit.” 

“Gossip is like gold here, Spotter. I can’t just be  _ giving _ gold away.” 

Spot rolled his eyes and turned over so that he was floating on his back. His head was lifted enough that his ears weren’t submerged. “Fine, then don’t tell me. I don’t care.” 

“But  _ maybe _ ,” Race continued. “You could be the DD for Blink’s party this weekend. That might be worth it.” 

“I already told you, I’m not giving you anything,” Spot said. “I don’t care about your gossip and I was planning on sleeping over after the party, so no DD needed.” 

“If you’re  _ sure _ you don’t want to know…” Race said in a singsong voice. He would get to Spot, and he knew it. Spot would never admit it, but he loved gossip– as long as it wasn’t about him. Spot glared for a moment, then ducked down below the water. Before he realized what was happening, Race felt a hand clamp around his ankle and Spot yanked him under.

He came back up just before Spot, who was busy fixing his hair. “Fine, I’ll tell you,” Race said. “Don’t drown me.”

Spot positioned the tube under him like a seat and crossed his arms, waiting. 

“On the way here, I saw a moonlit dalliance,” Race said. 

“What?” 

“I spied a pair of lovers, cloaked in darkness.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

Race cleared his throat. “I saw Jack making out with Bucket.”

“Huh,” Spot said. “Interesting.” To an outside observer, Spot would sound completely bored and uninterested. Race knew him better. Spot was intrigued.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” Race warned.

“Of course.”

One of Jack’s jobs on Fridays was to clean the art hut. He had to reorganize everything, take inventory, and prepare lessons for the next week. Near the end of the afternoon, Crutchie stopped by to help after his kids had all been picked up. “Good week?” Jack asked when Crutchie came in and, without having to be asked, started resorting crayons into their proper places. 

“Pretty good,” Crutchie replied. “That one kid, Foster–”

“The really tall one?” 

“Yeah. I thought he’d stick around until six o’clock just to make my life harder, but his mom was the second one here.”

“God bless,” Jack said. 

They worked together for a few minutes, their conversation punctuated by the sounds of crayons landing in a box or beads being sorted into jars. As they were finishing, the door opened and Race stepped in. “Need any help?” he asked. 

“No, you showed up just as we were finishing,” Jack said. 

“Almost like you planned it that way,” Crutchie added. Race grinned cheekily. “Are you driving tonight?” Crutchie asked. 

“Yeah, sure,” Race said. “I was trying to decide where we should go for dinner. I’m kind of feeling Mexican food.” 

“I’m down for Mexican. Jack?”

Jack stared resolutely at the beads that he had already finished sorting. “I’m actually not coming tonight.” 

“What? Why?”

“I’m just kind of tired. Long week.” 

Crutchie protested, but Race cut him off, looking smug. “ _ I _ think I know why Jack isn’t coming tonight,” he said. Jack raised his eyebrows. “I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Bucket isn’t coming, either.” 

“Jack,” Crutchie said. “You can’t just hang around here all night hoping Bucket will notice you.” 

“Seems to me like Bucket’s definitely noticed him now.” 

Jack stared at Race, looking like he was a mixture of angry and confused. He and Race were friends, but they weren’t especially close, so he had no idea how Race knew about Bucket. “You can’t tell anyone,” Jack said. “ _ Anyone _ .”

“Tell anyone  _ what _ ?” Crutchie asked. 

Jack tried to hold back a small grin, turning slightly red. “We’re kind of together.” 

“ _ What _ ?” Crutchie gasped. “Since when?” 

“Since Tuesday.”

“And you told  _ Race _ before you told  _ me _ ? No offense, Race.” 

“None taken,” Race said. 

“I actually didn’t… how’d you know?” Jack asked. 

“You were out in the open and I was on my break. I saw.”

“Oh,” Jack said, kicking himself mentally. They would have to be more careful. “Okay. Well, anyway. That’s a thing that’s happening. He wants it to be a secret, at least for now. Not even Knives knows, so you can't tell anyone.” He was breaking his deal with Bucket, but telling Crutchie felt great. They never had secrets from each other, and the past few days had been killing Jack. 

Crutchie, however, did not look happy for him. “I don’t know about this,” he said. 

“What don’t you know?” Jack asked. 

“Was it his idea to keep it a secret?” 

“Yeah. Because he’s head counselor, you know.”

“There’s no rule against the head counselor dating staff,” Race pointed out. “I mean, you guys are grown ups… technically.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jack replied. “But it’s more because people will talk and it’s better to not have to worry about what other people think.”

“I don’t like it,” Crutchie said. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Sorry to hear that,” he said dryly. He was clearly getting irritated. 

“I just mean… secret relationships aren’t healthy. Like, that’s a huge red flag.”

“It’s not a red flag,” Jack said defensively. “I already told you–”

“Yeah, you told me he doesn’t want people to talk,” Crutchie interrupted. “But why not? You should be with someone who wants to be with you and  _ wants _ people to know about it.”

“Look,” Jack said, a cold note creeping into his voice. “I appreciate that you’re worried. But I’m fine. I wish you’d just be happy for me.”

Jack didn’t come to Mush and Blink’s party. Crutchie stopped by after the staff meeting in the afternoon to extend the invitation again, but Jack wasn’t interested. Race drove with Crutchie, Mike, and Ike to the house where the party was already in full swing, after a stop on the way for Mexican food.

Some of the Willow Lake girls were there, and Kath tracked down Crutchie soon after he arrived. “Hey! Where’s Jack?” 

“He didn’t come. He’s not feeling well,” Crutchie lied. 

“Oh, that’s too bad!”

Race paired up with Spot for a game of Smoke and Fire. He held up a card so that Spot couldn’t see the front. “Smoke,” Spot said. 

Race smirked and turned it around. It was a three of hearts. Spot grimaced and took a sip of his drink. 

Race held up another card. “Smoke,” Spot said again. This time, he was right– it was a Jack of clubs. Race drank. 

After getting properly tipsy from the game, Race dragged Spot to the beer pong table and they paired up against Specs and Romeo and started their usual routine. Race made the shots and Spot talked shit, trying to distract the other team or throw them off their game. Romeo was easy to rile up, but it was hard to ruffle Specs’ feathers, so they were pretty easily matched.

Crutchie had been taken outside to smoke with Blink, Mush, and Raf, but his head wasn’t in it. He was too distracted by worry for Jack to really enjoy himself. Jack had a certain confidence and swagger that he wore out in the open. When he was around Bucket, he was more subdued. It was like he thought Bucket was better than him, and Crutchie hated that. He hated  _ Bucket _ . They had never gotten along very well, and Crutchie was pretty sure that he was nothing more than a pretentious hipster. Bucket was serious and self-satisfied. Jack was friendly, excitable, and loyal to a fault. He was basically the human version of a Golden Retriever. As much as he tried to focus on the party and his conversation with the guys on the deck, Crutchie was worried about his best friend.


	6. Hidden Things in Hollow Logs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys save a life.

The air conditioning in the infirmary was always running too high. Jack sat on the cot in the room, wrapped in Medda’s bathrobe, while she lounged in a tank top and shorts. “It’s freezing in here,” he said. 

“I’ve got it set to sixty-six,” Medda said, like that wasn’t cold. 

“Uh… yeah! It’s freezing in here.”

“You’re welcome to leave.”

Jack pulled the fluffy robe tighter around him. “No.”

“What brings you to my home tonight, Jack?” Medda asked. 

He shrugged. “I just wanted to see you.”

Medda smiled. “I’m flattered. You haven’t been visiting me much this summer.” 

“I’ve been… busy.” In reality, Jack had been going off with Bucket almost every night when he would normally come visit Medda. It was the third week of camp and he had hardly spent any time in the infirmary. 

“Busy with what?”

“Just work stuff.”

Medda fixed Jack with a stare that he knew saw right through him, but she didn’t say anything. “Don’t forget to take a break now and then,” she said. “You work too hard.”

“I want to be head counselor next year,” Jack told her. “I have to show Drowsy that I can do it.” 

“Drowsy  _ knows _ you can do it,” she said. “And he’d know you could do it even if you slowed down a little bit every now and then. I hear you’ve been helping Bucket out some.” 

“Yeah.” It was actually true. Though a lot of their time together was spent finding secret places to hook up, Jack had also been learning the ropes from Bucket. Jack was learning the intricacies of scheduling staff to account for camper ratios, activity blocks, staff preferences, and breaks. Flushing couldn’t go to the barn unless it was Race’s break because Race hated horses. Blink had to be at admin every Tuesday and Thursday from nine AM to eleven AM for an online class. Crutchie couldn’t do the hikes. There were a lot of moving parts to juggle.

The next night, Jack and Bucket met up after Bucket finished his rounds. They ducked down a path that created a shortcut between Manhattan and the dining hall and headed toward a bridge there. At the other end of the bridge, Spot and Race were walking toward them. “What are you doing here?” Bucket asked. 

“I dropped something earlier and we’re looking for it. What are  _ you _ doing here?” Of course, Race knew exactly what they were doing alone in the woods, and he was pretty sure that it was exactly what he and Spot were doing alone in the woods, but he wanted to see what Bucket’s excuse was. 

“Checking the geocaches.”

They stared at each other in a makeshift standoff between the two ends of the bridge when a rustling came from the side of the path. In unison, Spot and Bucket shone their flashlights toward the noise. There was nothing there, at least at first glance. Bucket moved the light away from the source of the sound, but Spot didn’t. “ _ Fuck _ , that’s a baby bear.”

Bucket flashed his light over to join Spot’s again, and they could see the shining end of a black nose hiding in a rotted out tree stump. “Move!” Bucket yelled, trying to scare the bear away. It just cowered back into the log. The only way for it to get out would be to come straight toward them, which they all knew a young black bear wouldn’t do. 

“We need to move,” Race said. “Its mom is probably nearby.” He and Spot started backing up, and Jack and Bucket followed them. The trail climbed a steep hill and they followed it, keeping a light on the tree stump to see if the bear came out. It didn’t. Likewise, no mama bear came out. They waited in complete silence for a long time, watching from a distance, but the baby bear didn’t move. 

Bucket, Jack, and Spot all had radios, and they crackled to life with a chaotic synchronicity. Jack and Spot immediately turned down their volume. “Finch to Drowsy,” they heard. “There’s a code yellow by the barn.” 

“What size of yellow?” Bucket said into the radio. 

“Uh, a yellow school bus and… a smaller bus.”

It was their code for bear. Drowsy answered then. He sounded tired, like he had already gone to bed. “Are the horses secure?” he asked Finch. 

“Yeah, they’re all stabled and we’ve got the barn locked up.” 

“Okay. As long as they stay down there, it should be fine. Bucket–” 

“Go for Bucket.” 

“Head down with the golf cart when you have a chance and see if you can herd them back some away from the camp.” 

“Got it.” Bucket clipped his radio back onto his backpack. “Alright, I need to go deal with that.”

“What about the baby?” Jack asked. 

“What about it?” 

“It’s been separated. If you chase the bears away, it might get lost.”

“Bro,” Race said. “It’s a  _ bear _ .” 

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “But it’s just a baby.”

He started back down the trail toward the baby, followed by Spot. Spot shone a light toward the tree stump, where they could see the bear, still hiding there. It seemed to be whimpering. “It’s scared,” Jack said. 

“It’s hurt,” Spot corrected. “Look at its paw.” 

It was hard to make much out in the dark and from a distance, but the bear was holding its front left paw in the air. The fur on the paw was matted and wet. 

Bucket had made it about halfway down the path and was listening in on their conversation. “Bucket to Drowsy,” he said in the radio. 

“Go ahead.” 

“We’re on the bath to the dining hall by the bridge. Can you come down here? There’s a situation.” 

They waited, keeping eyes and ears open for the return of the mother bear. After a few minutes, a twig snapped and they all jumped, but it was just Drowsy coming down the path in an old Camp Mountain Ridge t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. “What’s going on?” he asked. 

Jack gestured toward the tree stump. “We found a baby bear. It got separated from the pack and it’s hurt.” 

Drowsy’s eyes widened. He crouched to get a better look into the stump. “Well, shit,” he said. “No wonder that mama bear doesn’t want to go anywhere. The barn staff’s out there trying to chase her off and she won’t go anywhere.” He took out his radio. “Drowsy to Barn. Leave the school bus alone. Keep an eye out and make sure it doesn’t go up toward the cabins.” 

“Roger,” they heard Finch say.

“Okay,” Drowsy said, thinking. “Okay, okay, okay. We can’t move the bear.” 

“But it’s hurt!” Jack protested. 

“It’ll die out here on its own,” Spot added.

“It’s too dangerous for us to try to move it,” Drowsy said. “One of us could get hurt or the bear could struggle and get more injured.” He pointed at Spot. “Can you run up to the pool and look up wildlife rescues in the area?”

“I want to stay here,” Spot said stubbornly. Spot hadn’t taken his eyes off of the bear and Jack suddenly remembered that he didn’t eat meat. Apparently he had a bit of a soft spot for animals. 

“Okay, fine. Bucket, take the cart up to admin, find a wildlife rescue, and call them. Try to find an after hours one. If you can’t find one, at least try to find a vet. Then keep an eye on Mama.” Bucket nodded and took off down the trail toward Manhattan, where he had left the golf cart.

The four of them waited quietly for around twenty minutes. All the while, the tiny bear cub in the tree stump whimpered and licked at its hurt paw. The radio came to life and the cub backed farther into the stump. “Bucket to Drowsy.” 

“Go ahead.”

“I found a place. They’re about an hour away but they’re getting someone to come out.”

“Thank you.”

The silence returned. Spot kept his light on the bear, but angled it away from the cub’s eyes. There were a few drops of red blood on the leaves around where it stood. 

They waited for almost half an hour before Spot broke the silence, his voice barely above the whisper. “Thanks,” he said to Drowsy. “For not making us leave it, or whatever.”

Drowsy patted Spot’s shoulder. “You got it.” 

It was late when the wildlife rescuers showed up, led down the path by Bucket. They had the Mountain Ridge staff stand back while they captured the bear and got it into a dog carrier. “This is a very young one,” one of them said. “Definitely not old enough to live out here on its own. Looks like her paw is hurt pretty badly, but we have a vet on call. We’ll get her patched up in no time.”


	7. Log Cabins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race becomes part of an Us. Bucket defines the relationship.

The story of the bear spread quickly the next morning, probably because of Race, who told anyone who would listen. As a result, Jack, Spot, Race, and Bucket had campers and staff alike approaching them all morning for more details. “Did you really hold it until the vet got there?” a young kid asked Spot. 

“What? No. Don’t be stupid, you can’t just hold a bear.” Raf shot him a warning look from across the table. Spot flagged down Race, who was on the way to the coffee bar. “What are you telling them?”

“I’m just embellishing a few details to make it a better story,” Race said. 

“Well, don’t. It’s already a pretty good story.”

It rained that afternoon, and counselors stopped by the art hut at varying points throughout the day to get some cell phone signal. After lunch, Crutchie visited, and Race followed not long after. Race had been hanging around a lot lately. It was like since he was in on the secret, he was in on Jack and Crutchie’s friendship. When he thought about it too hard, it annoyed Jack, since he got very little time alone with Crutchie as it was. But he enjoyed having Race around, and his chaotic rudeness added something to their dynamic.

“Can I start a fire in here?” Race asked as he fiddled with a crayon. 

“What? No?” 

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll burn the art hut down,” Jack reasoned. 

“Not with one crayon.” 

“Oh, you’re just trying to burn a crayon? Yeah, go ahead.” 

Race carefully balanced the purple crayon on its end and lit it like a birthday candle. The flame it produced was similar to a birthday candle, too, and they watched it burn, dripping wax onto the table, for several minutes. “Damn, those burn well,” Crutchie said. 

“Yeah,” Race said. “I’m impressed. This was a successful experiment.”

Jack had gotten over the fear of burning the art hut down. “What do you think would happen if we built a log cabin out of crayons and set it on fire?”

“Big fire,” Race replied. 

“Big log cabin fire,” Crutchie agreed. “Hey, here’s an idea. Let’s go up to the basketball court or something tonight and burn shit.” 

“Why?” Race asked. 

“Because… it’s fun?” 

“No, I mean, why the basketball court?”

“Oh, I just figured there’s not much around to catch on fire up there.”

“Good point.”

“I’ll have to check with Bucket,” Jack said. “See what he had planned for tonight.” 

Race fixed Jack with a withering stare. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Honestly, Jack,” Crutchie said. “Do what you want! You don’t need his permission.” 

“I know I don’t need his  _ permission _ . I just–” 

“Like him better than you like us,” Crutchie interrupted, then shot a quick look at Race. He seemed to remember that Race wasn’t normally part of  _ us _ . “Better than you like me.”

“Dude, you’re being really immature about this,” Jack said. “What are you, jealous?”

Crutchie fumed. “ _ No _ . I’m annoyed because this guy’s got you eating out of the palm of his hand. This isn’t like you. Jack Kelly doesn’t ask for permission to see his friends. You’re  _ better than him _ .” 

“No, I’m not,” Jack said. “Guys, I might never end up with someone as great as him again. He’s better than  me . And I’m big enough to admit that.” 

“The guy’s a douche,” Race said. “He’s just a hipster who mooches off of people all year until he can come here and mooch off of the camp. He doesn’t work, he doesn’t pay bills, he doesn’t go to school, he doesn’t do  _ anything _ . He just coasts around acting like he’s living a bigger life than everyone he knows, and he’s not!”

Jack was angry now. “Do you know what he did this year? He went to Santa Fe for a few months.  _ Santa Fe _ . Do you know what it’s like out there? He taught yoga and hiked and really experienced the world.” 

“Who gives a fuck about Santa Fe?” Race asked. “It’s just some city, except it’s hot and the environment wants to kill you. And I’m sorry, I must’ve missed when he became a yoga teacher. I have never seen him do a single yoga pose, except for that one where you lay down and sleep.”

Jack glanced at his watch. “Isn’t your break almost over?”

“No. I have an hour left.”

“Great. Spend it somewhere else.” 

Race left with Crutchie in tow, and a furious Jack was left to scrape purple crayon wax off of the table.

That night, after bedtime, Crutchie sat alone on the basketball court. He didn’t expect Jack to come, but he wanted to be there just in case he did. The gravel crunched and Crutchie squinted in the dark to see who was coming, but it was just Race. 

“Hey,” Race said. He took a seat facing Crutchie on the asphalt, still warm from the sun of the day. 

“Hey. Jack’s probably not coming.” 

“I figured. We pissed him off pretty good.” They were silent for a moment. “ _ Are _ you jealous?” 

“No,” Crutchie said quickly. “I don’t like him like that. He’s like my brother, I swear. I’m just worried. He’s not acting like himself.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s like he’s lost his…” Race made a disgusted face. “Swagger, or something. Who knew there’d be so much dating drama at an all boys camp.”

“What other dating drama is there?” Crutchie asked. 

“Uh,” Race immediately thought of himself and Spot. Spot, who had pulled him behind a tree half an hour earlier and kissed his neck until Race’s toes tingled. That wasn’t dating, though. “That’s all.” 

“It always happens,” Crutchie said. “Just because you’re straight, doesn’t mean everyone here is. Hell, I don’t even know if  _ most _ of the people who work here are straight. You _are_ straight, right?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“That’s a shame.”

Race cocked an eyebrow. “Why? You into this?” He motioned at himself. 

Crutchie laughed. “Absolutely not. I just thought you might be a bit less annoying if you weren’t a hetero.”

“Not a chance.”

The basketball court was suddenly illuminated by the lights of the golf cart. They looked up, but it was too bright, and they couldn’t see who was in the golf cart. Crutchie waved, but the cart kept driving. 

Jack didn’t expect Crutchie and Race to actually stop at the basketball court. He almost asked Bucket to stop, but decided against it. They were going up to admin to work on a supply order for the next week. Recently, it was almost like Jack was Bucket’s assistant, rather than his sort of maybe secret camp boyfriend. (They had not, of course, made things official.) Jack spent most of his evenings helping Bucket with extra work so he could learn the head counselor ropes. 

When they made it to admin, Bucket unlocked the door and turned on a single light over the desk in the reception area. He pulled a list from his pocket and started reading through it. “Harlem’s requested face paint,” Bucket said. “Do you have any in the art hut?” 

“No,” Jack replied. “We’ve got finger paint, but it’s not the same.”

The work was monotonous. They had to cross-reference the camp inventory to see if they already had the supply in question, then look up the price on various sources and make a few different shopping lists. When they were halfway down the list (tangerines and cinnamon sticks for Flushing), Jack got bored. He picked up a scrap piece of paper and started folding it into an airplane. “Can you please focus?” Bucket asked. 

“Literally, medically, no,” Jack replied. “That’s what you get for dating a guy with ADHD. Let’s take a break.” 

“We need to get this done.” 

“Just a quick break.” 

“ _ Jack _ . No.” 

Jack sat back in his chair, frustrated. 

Bucket kept working on a few list items, but finally put down his pen. “I think we need to talk about something.”

“What?”

“Do you think this,” He motioned between the two of them. “Is dating?”

“I mean, yeah? Basically?” 

“I feel like we’re more casual than that,” Bucket said. 

“I never said we were boyfriends, or anything.”

“I know. And I’m not saying I’d be opposed to dating in the future, but we’ve never actually been on a date.” 

“Let’s go out this weekend,” Jack suggested.

“I’m working this weekend.” That made no sense. There were no camp events happening over the weekend, and Jack had heard Bucket and Knives making plans to go out for dinner after the staff meeting on Friday. “Don’t get me wrong,” Bucket continued. He reached out and pushed back the hair from Jack’s face. “I still like you. I just wanted to make it clear where things stand for now. There’s no point in us forcing this, when it’s already going so well.”


	8. The Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fourth of July party is an absolute rager. One couple makes a revelation, and another does everything they can to avoid one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for excessive drinking and just general unhealthy relationships in this chapter.

On the Fourth of July, Camp Mountain Ridge was closed. Staff were free to stay at the camp or go home, and the annual staff Fourth of July party was ready to go. This was the first year that it would be hosted at Blink’s house, but he had accepted the party house torch, which had been passed down by Rainy, who had left camp the year before. 

The house was covered in red white and blue streamers, flags, and balloons. The drinks were all either red or blue, the snacks were patriotic, and the playlist had remixes of the national anthem sprinkled throughout. 

When they arrived, Race and Spot got separated. Race went with Crutchie, who had brought a beer funnel, and Spot joined some drinking game with the lifeguards. The party was more wild than usual. A few of the Willow Lake girls had shown up in American flag bikinis and as a result, several Mountain Ridge boys had been following them around all night. Romeo was down to his underwear, which was patterned with the American flag, and was yelling about a game of strip poker. 

Around midnight, Race got bored. There were several couples making out on all of the couches, so there was nowhere to sit, all of the snacks were gone, and most people were too drunk to be very interesting. He had done well in the various drinking games that he participated in and as such, was only vaguely tipsy. It was annoying, being the most sober person at a party.

He wandered outside, looking for Spot. The backyard was less crowded. Blink and Mush were setting up for a fireworks display and Jack and Bucket were huddled in the corner of the deck, having what looked like a serious conversation. A few of the girls were smoking and Crutchie was lying in the grass, talking to Finch. It was hard to tell what was going on in the darker part of the yard, so Race started back that way, still keeping an eye out for Spot.

Something small and hard hit the outside of Race’s ankle and he automatically flinched. Another projectile came at him, but this time, it missed. Race cursed and ducked down, following the trajectory of the pebble. He could just barely make out Spot, sitting behind the bush and holding a handful of pebbles. Spot gestured to him and Race crawled through the bushes. 

There was a fairly open area behind the bush between it and a brick wall. There was plenty of space for them to sit on the ground, but a third person would be pushing it. They could see out of the bush, but only barely. “I’ve been waiting for you,” Spot said as Race settled onto the ground. 

One look into Spot’s eyes and Race could tell that he was drunk.  _ Really _ drunk. “Then why didn’t you come get me?” Race asked. “You disappeared.”

“You’re supposed to be the genius. Why didn’t you come find me?”

“I did come find you.” 

Spot grinned. It was more relaxed than his usual smile, which Race normally had to work to draw out. “Then I was right.”

“This party is a mess,” Race said. “ _ You’re  _ a mess.”

“I’m not a mess. You are.” 

Dramatically, Race glanced down at his shirt. It was perfectly clean. “Nope!”

“It was too loud inside. I needed to get away,” Spot said. He changed tracks completely. “I missed you.” 

Race bit the corner of his mouth. “Then you could’ve told me you were out here, dumbass.” 

“Nah. Had to see if you wanted to see me enough to come find me.” Spot leaned back against the brick wall behind them, not taking his eyes off of Race. It was an intense stare, not marred by the alcohol clouding Spot’s mind. “Man, Race, how come I can’t find a girl as good as you?” 

This was both exciting and painful, for some reason. “As good as me how?” 

“All the ways,” Spot said. “There’s no girl like you.” At first, Spot had been grinning. His smile had faded, though, and he looked thoughtful. They stayed quiet for a moment until that thoughtful expression changed to sadness. “There really  _ isn’t _ any girl like you,” he repeated, like he was realizing it for the first time. “You’re so smart. You’re so dumb. You’re so good at kissing. You’re so…” 

Something unspoken floated in the space between them. Spot didn’t make any attempt to continue what he had been saying, and Race was grateful. If Spot connected the dots, if he finished his sentence… Spot had the chance to change everything between them right there, behind the bush in Blink’s backyard, and Race wasn’t ready for whatever change that might bring. To throw Spot off track and shut him up, Race did the only thing he knew how to do in that moment. He put a hand behind Spot’s neck, drew him in close, and kissed him.

Bucket hadn’t wanted to come to the party, but Jack made him. “You’re the head counselor,” Jack had said. “You at least need to drop by. It’ll be fun. You don’t have to stay.  _ We _ don’t have to stay.” 

Finally, Bucket had agreed, on the condition that he would drive, he wouldn’t drink, and he wouldn’t be staying over. He had slept on the floor of a crowded room full of drunk people enough times when he went to Portugal and didn’t need to do that anymore. Once he got to the party, he did start to warm up– or maybe he was just that good at faking it for the crowd. Bucket had a kind of natural charisma that Jack had learned he was able to turn on and off at will. 

Jack was dragged outside by Specs and Romeo while Bucket sat on a couch with Leon and Knives. Specs had set up a game of Candyland for some reason, and was dead set on playing it. 

Around eleven thirty, after several increasingly loud and ridiculous games, Jack had forgotten about how hard he had to pressure Bucket into coming. Crutchie stood behind Jack, rooting him on, while Romeo yelled increasingly graphic taunts. Specs won the game, and they all agreed to take a break. The fireworks would be starting soon. 

Jack turned around to see a very annoyed looking Kath standing off to the side. “What’s up, Kathy P?” he asked. 

“I’m annoyed.” 

“I see that. What’s up?” 

“One of your guys keeps hitting on me. It’s really obnoxious. His whole vibe just screams ‘douche’.”

“One of ‘my guys’?” Jack said, looking around. “Someone from Mountain Ridge? Who?”

“I don’t remember his name,” Kath replied. “ It was something stupid. It’s not even a big deal, or anything. He didn’t try anything, he just wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept comparing me to French girls he’s hooked up with and kept trying to say if he won the game, I should kiss him. I stepped outside to get a break. The tall guy with a beard? I think you said once he’s the head counselor.”

Jack’s heart sank. “You’re sure that was him? About this tall–” He held a hand about two inches above his head. “Blue t-shirt?” 

“Yeah, that was definitely him. Anyway, I’m fine. Just wanted a breather. It was getting pretty loud in there.”

When Kath had gone off with a couple of the girls from her camp, Jack turned on his heel and went back inside. The door slammed behind him, but he didn’t care. Bucket was sitting by the coffee table where a game had been set up. “I need to talk to you,” Jack said. 

“When this game is over,” Bucket replied. 

“No. Now.” 

Bucket glanced up and apparently decided that Jack was serious, so he stood up. “Take my place, Liam,” he said, and Liam moved into his spot. “What’s up?” 

Jack gestured for Bucket to follow him outside. There was an empty corner of the deck where two folding chairs were set up. He gestured to one and took a seat in the other. Bucket sat. “Why were you hitting on my friend?” Jack demanded. 

“Sorry, which friend?” Bucket asked.

“Kath.  _ Which friend? _ Honestly.” 

“I don’t understand,” Bucket replied. 

“What do you mean, you don’t understand?”

Bucket shrugged. “I just don’t understand what you think the problem is. We established that we weren’t exclusive. It’s not like anything happened.”

“She wasn’t into you and you wouldn’t leave her alone!” 

“I’m sorry, were you there?” Bucket asked. “You have no idea how things went.” 

Jack ran a hand through his hair, furious. “You just don’t want to admit that not everyone on the planet wants to be with you!”

“I think this is a case of jealousy.” Bucket’s tone took on a calming quality. He was turning on the charm, and Jack could tell. It was like a switch had flipped right in front of him. “You  _ know _ how much I like you, Jack. I was just talking to her.  _ Nothing _ happened.”

Jack fought against forgiving Bucket. It would be the easiest thing. Forgive him, leave the party with him, and carry on as they had been. Still, he fought. “Nothing happened because she didn’t want anything to happen and she didn’t  _ let _ anything happen.”

“Jack, don’t do this,” Bucket replied in a soothing voice. He reached out and took Jack’s hand. “Don’t fight with me over this. It was nothing. I’m sorry.”

Jack yanked his hand away. “Why do you want this–” he motioned between the two of them– “to be secret?” 

“We’ve been over this. People would talk.” 

“Why do you care? I wouldn’t have cared if people talked. I would have been happy for them to know that we were together.”

“It’s a distraction.”

“No one is so worried about what we’re doing that it’d actually be distracting to anyone.” 

Bucket smiled a sly grin. “Maybe I just wanted to keep you to myself.”

“Bullshit.” Jack spat out the word. 

“I’m just not ready to be exclusive, okay?” 

“Obviously! If you were, you wouldn’t be creeping all over my friend. But secretly hooking up and exclusive boyfriends aren’t the only options, you know.”

Bucket was quiet for a moment, watching Jack as if deep in thought. “Maybe this is too much for you right now.”

“If you’re trying to break up with me,” Jack said. “Don’t bother. You can’t break up with someone you were never dating.”


	9. Camp Outs and Check Ins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie and Race check on Jack, and we get a glimpse into the future.

The day after the party, Bucket didn’t go back to camp. Knives said that he had been planning all along on going camping with his family, and Jack was relieved. He hadn’t been looking forward to sharing a room. Knives and Jack hardly talked, which was normal for them. As far as Jack could tell, Knives still didn’t know what happened between him and Bucket, and Jack would like to keep it that way.

On Sunday, however, the staff had to be back for a new week of camp. Bucket showed up early and grinned at Jack when he walked into admin. Jack stared down at the art hut schedule. They managed to get through the day with only minor, absolutely necessary bits of communication. 

When bedtime came around, though, Jack stood outside on the road, staring at Manhattan. He could hear the guys inside. He glanced upward. It was a beautiful, clear night. He turned around and started up Flushing hill. Race was outside having just put his kids to bed. “What’s up, Jack?” he asked. 

“Just going for a walk,” Jack replied. “I just need a little space.”

“You good?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Jack kept walking past all of the Flushing cabins, up to the observation deck. It was empty. In fact, a spider had built a web across the entrance, which Jack knocked down with a stick. He stretched his hammock across the deck, tying it up between two support posts, and laid down. The structure was solid. The observation deck was by no means quiet. From here, he could hear Race talking in his usual loud voice with Romeo yelling back. How their campers were sleeping through it, Jack had no idea. The cicadas kept up an ambient humming while bullfrogs and owls added to the noise. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves around him. 

Still, it was better than the stifling Manhattan cabin. Here, he had fresh air away from Knives’ overly-scented deodorant. He couldn’t hear Bucket tossing and turning on his creaky bunk. He wouldn’t be woken up by the shower turning on early in the morning when Morris had to get up early to feed the horses. There wouldn’t be a steady stream of guys coming from Flushing with it’s tiny outdoor showers to use their bathroom. It was the best night’s sleep Jack had gotten in ages.

The next day, though, it rained. Jack woke three minutes before his alarm was supposed to go off to a large droplet landing on his nose. He quickly disassembled his impromptu campsite and listened for the golf cart. Bucket normally left early to make some rounds before breakfast. 

He could hear it start up and walked down the hill to shower and get ready. “Where were you last night?” Knives asked as he got ready to brush his teeth. “You never came back to the cabin.”

“Thought I’d do a campout,” Jack replied. It wasn’t technically a lie. “It was a nice night.”

“True, it was.”

All day, Jack sat in the art hut, watching the downpour through the windows and wondering how he would face going back to Manhattan tonight. He considered asking Drowsy if he could borrow a tent, but even if Drowsy said yes, he would probably ask why, and Jack didn’t want to tell him. Around dinnertime, it hit him that he was in his own cabin. Sure, there was no bunk in the art hut, but he could make it work for him. The Woodside cabins were nearby, and Crutchie and Trav wouldn’t mind if he used their showers. 

During dinner, he snuck down to Manhattan for his things. The mattresses in the cabins were thin and lightweight. Normally, counselors claimed two of the mattresses for themselves, but Jack only took one. He carried the mattress to the art hut, thankful that everyone was in the dining hall and he didn’t have to be seen doing the camp mattress walk of shame. The mattress was small and fit snugly in the supply closet. Once his things were dropped off, Jack ran to the dining hall, where he just had time to grab a plate before dinner was over. 

There was a campwide scavenger hunt that evening. Jack helped Crutchie’s group. Crutchie was helping Drowsy as a sort of referee, since his leg would only slow his group down. Jack ran all over the camp in the rain with the Woodside boys, periodically giving them sly hints when they started getting frustrated. The Harlem group won, but it was a close call. One of the boys in Jack’s group, Marcus, said that it must be because Harlem had nicer cabins. They were sleeping better and were more equipped for competition. It was an established fact that Harlem had nicer cabins, with their air conditioning and indoor bathrooms. Every camper dreamed of being assigned to a group in Harlem. Woodside was barely a step up from tents. 

When the scavenger hunt ended, Jack hung around Woodside to help with bedtime. Trav, the unit leader for the group, approached Jack as the boys finished up with getting ready for bed. “We got this,” he said. “This is a pretty easy group, so bedtimes aren’t hard. You can go on back to Manhattan. Thanks for the help tonight.”

Jack was left with no more excuses. Bedtime was mostly over. Medda had already gone around with the nightly medicine run, so he couldn’t pretend to help her there. Slowly, he walked back to the art hut. Inside, he left only a single light on and went and got his mattress from the storage closet and laid it down in the middle of the room. He had brought a blanket, and laid down a canvas drop cloth over the plastic mattress to act as a sheet. When he laid down, a pang of sadness hit him. It was pathetic, sleeping on the floor of the art hut. He had a great night out on the observation deck, but this was just sad. Still, though, Jack stared ahead at a colorful set of drawers full of beads and pipe cleaners, and felt himself drift off.

Before he could fall asleep, though, the door to the art hut opened, and Jack jumped. “Oh, my god,” Crutchie said. “What the hell are you doing?” Crutchie was standing there with Race, both wearing rain coats. 

“Uh, sleeping,” Jack replied as he sat up. 

“Hey, quick question,” Race said. “Why are you sleeping in the fart hut?”

“It’s raining.”

“I see, I see.” Race looked thoughtful for a moment. “Had you considered sleeping, I don’t know… in your cabin?”

“How’d you know I was in here?”

“I was going for a walk,” Race said. “Saw you through the window and figured I better go get Crutchie.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Bucket and I broke up,” he said. “It was just too weird in Manhattan.”

Race grinned, but Crutchie at least had the decency to look sad for Jack. “What happened?”

“We were at Blink’s party, you know? And I wasn’t with him, and he kept coming on to Kath, even though she said she wasn’t into him.” Crutchie made a noise like an angry cat. “So I confronted him and he was just like… really obnoxious about it? Like, he kept trying to make me feel like I was stupid for being mad about it. And, I don’t know. It ended.”

“Good riddance,” Race said. 

Crutchie shot him a look and limped over to take a seat next to Jack on the mattress. “I’ve said it a million times, but you’re better than him,” Crutchie said. Jack started to say something, but Crutchie shushed him. “Look, you’re an idiot, but you’re the best person I know, you know? You always go into everything with all you’ve got, and you always fall hard. Don’t shake your head at me. You do. And someday, someone is going to be  _ insanely _ in love with you. And they’re never going to make you feel like you’re stupid, or you’re not good enough for them, or anything.”

Race sat on one of the tables, looking thoughtful. “Maybe no more camp relationships, though,” he suggested. 

Jack nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“Nah,” Crutchie said, shaking his head. “Camp relationships aren’t bad.  _ Bucket _ is bad. I mean, you saw Rainy and Max last year. They’re  _ engaged _ now.”

_ One year and one month later _

Jack sat in the art hut on the last day of camp, after everyone had left. Only Davey was left. He had hugged Crutchie and Race goodbye in an emotional send-off while Davey made plans with Spot to see each other in the off season. In the art hut, it was too quiet. He and Davey were reminiscing about the summer when a tear suddenly sprang to Jack’s eyes. He quickly wiped it away. “What?” Davey asked. Davey had grown during the summer. Not physically, although Jack thought he could see a bit more muscle definition than there had been the first time they met. He had a bit of a tan, and it was a good look for him. More than that, his confidence was palpable. 

“Nothing, it’s stupid,” Jack said. 

“Whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” Davey grinned. “Probably.”

Jack was suddenly reminded of a day in the art hut over a year before.  _ They’re never going to make you feel like you’re stupid _ . “I love you,” Jack said. He hadn’t meant to say it, but there was suddenly nothing else he would rather say. 

Davey blinked a couple of times. “I… love you, too. Is that why you’re crying?”

“No, I’m crying because I’m sad camp is over,” Jack laughed, shoving Davey lightly. It was more than that, though. He  _ was _ sad about camp being over, but it was such a stark contrast to the summer before, and Jack felt so much more like himself every moment that he spent with Davey. 

\---------------------------------------------------

_ The summer before _

After he left Jack in the art hut, Race walked up the hill toward the pool. When he passed Brooklyn, he hooted twice like an owl, and Spot came out a few moment later. They walked in silence up to the pool. “Jack and Bucket are over,” Race said as Spot unlocked the gate.

“Finally. That was a disaster.”

“Yeah.” They got ready to swim and after they were in the water, Race said, “You know you’re my best friend?”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Who you also make out with sometimes.”

“Some friendships are better than others,” Race said with a smile. 

“No homo still, right?” Spot asked. 

“No homo.”

_ Two years and one month later _

“You’re sure you want to move in together?” Race asked. The mouse of his laptop was hovering over a link to apply for an apartment. “This is your last chance to back out before I put both of our names on this lease.”

“I’m sure,” Spot said. He said it with such confidence, like he did with most things. 

Race started filling out the form, but accidentally put Spot’s real name down as “Spot Conlon”. He backspaced and typed in the correct name. “Maybe we should be on a real name basis, if we're going to be roommates.” 

Spot thought about that for a moment and wrinkled his nose. “Hard pass.” 

“What, Conner? Not into it?”

“Shut up, Liam.” 

“Ugh. God, you’re right,” Race said with a grimace. “It feels wrong. We’ll be together forever and never call each other by our real names.” It didn’t help, of course, that Conner Conlon was a deeply terrible name meant to torture Spot. 

“Good.”

Race carried on with the form, getting bits of information from Spot periodically, before pressing “Submit”. They sat in silence for a moment after the form was sent off. “Huh,” Spot said. “I kind of thought that’d be more dramatic.”

“Do you remember Blink’s Fourth of July party two summers ago?” Race asked. 

“What?”

“Blink’s Fourth of–”

Spot cut him off. “I heard you the first time. But not really. I was pretty wasted.”

“I’m about to say something really gay.” 

Spot rolled his eyes, but Race could tell that he was suppressing a smile. “Go on.” 

“I didn’t realize it, obviously, but I think I realized then that I was in love with you. You know, looking back.”

“Yeah, Race. That was pretty gay.”

“No homo.”

  
  


_ -The end- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy howdy howdy! I told yall this would be shorter than the other Mountain Ridge stories. I wanted to fill in a few gaps in the story, but I also wanted to show that Our Boys really had to do a bit of growing up to prepare them for the summer from the original Mountain Ridge story. There was more that happened this summer– Jack and Kath getting together, for instance, but this felt like a good place to stop.  
> Also, side note: yes, I did change Spot and Race's names. I know the fandom has kind of settled on Sean and Antonio but tbh? I hate those names for them and it's my story so I'll do what I want. (I did have to go back and edit some previous works, but YOLO.)
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you liked this. I'm on Tumblr at timetogoslumming if you want to follow me there, and I've been more active than usual there lately, which has been fun.   
> xoxo,  
> timetogoslumming


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